


to be your friend was all I ever wanted; to be your lover was all I ever dreamed

by pearian



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, POV Jean, Pining, Quarterback!Marco, artist!jean, barista!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearian/pseuds/pearian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, Jean has realized that he should actually do his job, so he steams the milk and grinds the espresso beans, all while holding the cup with Marco’s name on it. Jean wants to emphasize (mostly to himself) that he is definitely not a creep. He just likes the texture of the cup. He’s definitely not still holding Marco’s cup throughout the entire process just because he likes the way that Marco’s name fits perfectly below their shop’s logo, no, definitely not. </p>
<p>Jean is not a creep. </p>
<p>(But now he’s not too sure, as he realizes that he will have to let go of the cup soon after adding in the vanilla syrup and froth. He sprinkles the cinnamon on top of the drink and Jean’s never felt more reluctant to part with an inanimate object in his entire life.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be your friend was all I ever wanted; to be your lover was all I ever dreamed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago for a friend's birthday and recently found it while cleaning out my hard drive. I thought I would take a break from stressing about my current fic and fix this one up to upload on ao3. Enjoy this incredibly cliche story and cringe with me. 
> 
> The title of the fic is a quote by Valerie Lombardo that I randomly found online I'm sorry I'm not creative
> 
> Thanks for reading!

There are pros and cons to working at a coffee shop, Jean decides while he brews a venti caramel macchiato for his first customer of the day. 

Jean likes being surrounded by the smell of freshly grinded coffee beans and baked lemon scones. He enjoys the aesthetics of the coffee shop, the set up of the tables and Sasha’s daily special scribbles on the chalkboard near the creamer. He appreciates the organized countertops with colour coordinated jar labels and neatly arranged syrup pumps. He strives for the satisfaction of making a perfect pour over and the look of content from his next customer when he calls for “Connie!” 

Actually, Jean loves his job. A lot. 

But sometimes, he feels just about ready to rip his hair out when obnoxious parents insist on ordering drinks that they don’t serve and then complain that his scowl and piercings are “scaring away their children.” He hates it when they demand to speak to his manager, because he knows that Levi isn’t going to give two shits. He feels a little better when they finally order something that _exists on their menu_ but by his lunch break, Jean has just about had it with this job. 

“I am so done,” Jean says to the general vicinity as he unties his apron, grabs his satchel (it’s not a purse, he claims, it’s a man-bag) and leaves for his break. He vaguely hears Sasha’s muffin-muffled “JEAN YOU FORGOT YOUR SANDWICH CAN I EAT IT” before walking out the back door. 

Jean doesn’t really wander far from the coffee shop on his breaks. It’s right next to his university campus and there’s a perfect view of the football field from the chain-link fence that divides grass from concrete. He takes a seat near the fence, pulls out his sketchbook and begins drawing. Jean spends his break sketching trees, windows and facial expressions from students across the field. He’s almost done shading in some random kid’s eyebrows when he hears a not-so-distant whistle and a gruff “three laps, then dynamics!” 

Now distracted, Jean turns to see their university football team running onto the field, following instructions given by their coach. In reality, Jean’s never really been a sports kind of guy – he prefers sitting in his dorm room, listening to indie music while doodling on his incomplete midterm papers – but when he sees a boy with a brown undercut and a multitude of freckles, Jean thinks he should reconsider. 

Jean watches him, temporarily stunned by the boy’s bright smile and sunny disposition. He stares, jaw slack and not blinking, while the boy finishes his laps and proceeds to dynamic stretches. His brain finally begins functioning again when the boy lunges because _damn he’s got the booty,_ and Jean immediately flips to a new page in his sketchbook and starts drawing.

Jean decides to call him Freckles, as he draws the details of his hairline and the way his eyes crinkle into upside down crescents when he smiles. He sketches Freckles’ broad shoulders, noting that they are broader than his own, and the visible ripples of lean muscle through his t-shirt. By the end of his break, Jean’s sketchbook is filled with pages of detailed depictions of Freckle’s calves, fingers, shoulder blades and face. 

_I’m not a creep,_ Jean internally stresses as he flips through each page. _This is just, y’know. Practice. And stuff. Yeah._

He’s finally convinced himself that his behaviour is completely normal, but when Jean glances back up, he freezes completely because _oh my god Freckles is staring back from across the field._

Freckles has a surprised look on his face as he stares back at Jean, but that expression quickly fades into a warm smile and a polite wave before he turns back to his teammates to complete a drill. 

Luckily, Jean has just enough brain cells left to understand that he’s been caught staring and hastily packs up his things before escaping back into the safety of the coffee shop. He slams the door shut once he’s inside and leans his back against the door, clutching his shirt in the area above his heart. The erratic pounding in his chest won’t stop no matter how hard he tries because Freckles _smiled and waved at him smiled and waved at him smiled and waved at him-_

“Why do you look like you’re about to piss yourself, Kirschstein?” Jean immediately turns toward the familiar voice and sees, of course, Eren _fucking_ Jaeger leaning against the employee bulletin board with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. 

“Why are you even here, Jaeger?” Jean pointedly sidesteps Eren’s question with one of his own. “I thought Sasha was supposed to be on the afternoon shift.” 

Eren peels himself off the board and shrugs before tossing an apron directly into Jean’s face. “Levi switched our shifts. Hurry up and get out there, you’ve been out way past your break, dumbass.” 

Jean looks up at the wall clock and mumbles an incoherent “shit” before he ties on his apron and quickly stuffs his satchel back in his employee cubicle. As he makes his way back out to the counter, he’s met with an ever-growing line of customers and a hard glare from Levi. 

“You’re. Fucking. Late.” Levi growls as he pumps two shots of caramel into a grande cup. There are some looks of disdain at the profanity from the line, but Jean ignores them in favour of meekly apologizing for his tardiness and taking the next customer’s order. Jean swears he hears Eren snickering from the back room and makes a mental note to kick him in the balls later.

*****

Jean spends the next hour taking orders and serving drinks while trying to ignore Eren’s stupid insults and cheeky attitude. 

“Hey, hey,” Eren says with a smirk as he pours a vanilla bean frappuccino into two grande cups and hands them to Jean, “what do you call a fake noodle?”

“What,” Jean spits as he tops the sugary drinks with generous amounts of whipped cream. He could really care less, but at this point, he’s given up on hope of Eren shutting up. Jean calls out the two names written on the drinks “Mina! Rico!” before turning to his co-worker. 

Eren has a shit-eating grin on his face when he says, “An impasta. Get it? Imposter? Impasta?” Eren is practically dying of laughter on his side of the counter when Jean simply rolls his eyes and makes another mental note to forcibly remove his tongue in the very near future. 

Eventually, the two baristas settle into a somewhat peaceful rhythm of taking orders, counting change and brewing coffee. Business is always somewhat slow in the afternoon, so the jingle of the front door to the coffee shop catches Jean’s attention as a group of loud and boisterous boys begin piling into the store. At first, he doesn’t pay much mind to the crowd, but then he recognizes some familiar faces and _oh shit, these are the football players from the field oh my god wait that means-_

Freckles walks in just as Jean is experiencing probably the biggest mental breakdown of his entire life. He can feel his armpits sweating and fingers twitching as he contemplates the quickest escape routes from his current position behind the cash register. His eyes quickly scan the shop from back door to front, but at this point, his options are limited. The front door is an obvious no-no, but Eren with his stupid apron and tray of frappuccinos is blocking the only route from the counter to the back door. Wait, maybe he can boost himself up on the table and jump out the windows near the love seats-

“Dude, are you okay?” Jean turns to see that Eren has stopped brewing coffee in favour of looking at him like he’s going crazy. Which, really, he is, but as if Jean’s ever going to admit that to _Eren._

“I’m fine,” he replies as he picks up a cloth and meticulously wipes down the counter in an attempt to avoid any and all eye contact with the group. Jean can nearly feel the sceptical glare he’s receiving, but Eren doesn’t question it and turns back to his coffee beans. Jean lets out a sigh of relief, but that feeling is instantaneously replaced with anxiousness because now he can see the group moving toward the counter from his peripheral and _fuck,_ what should he do _what should he do?_

_Just play it cool, Jean. Play it cool,_ He tells himself. _You are a cool dude. A cool bro. The coolest. Coolest of them all. Yeah. That’s right. Hell yeah._

Jean stops wiping the life out of the counter and puts on his brightest smile as he turns to the blond, burly man in front of him. “Hi, what can I get for you today?” 

Blond and Burly looks thoughtful for a moment before replying with “one large java chip frappuccino, please,” as his tall and extremely sweaty friend protests that “it’s called a venti!” Jean mentally rolls his eyes; he hears this argument on a daily basis and he could really care less. He jots down the order on a venti cup and inputs it into the cash register. 

“Can I get a na-”

“Reiner? Oh, and Bertl!” Eren sounds surprised when he notices the two men in front of Jean. His mouth curves into a nostalgic smile before taking the venti cup from Jean’s hands, ignoring his sputtering, and shooing him away. “Hey, how’ve you guys been? Jean, I got this one, you take the next order, okay?” 

Jean stands in shock for a moment as he watches Eren make swift conversation with Reiner and Bertl while effortlessly handling the order. _Hm. Maybe Eren does have friends,_ Jean concludes with a glance toward the three near the end of the counter. He decides he should probably follow Eren’s advice (for once) and take the next customer’s order, but when Jean turns back to face the front of his register, he almost drops the sharpie pen he’s holding because-

Freckles is standing in front of him.

Like.

Right. In front. Of him. 

The barista gapes at the embodiment of sunshine that has blessed its presence upon him as he takes in Freckle’s warm smile and innocent demeanour from a point-blank range. Although Jean is currently incapable of any physical movement whatsoever, his brain uses this time to soak in every single detail his eyes can gaze upon. 

He notes that Freckles truly lives up to his nickname; his freckles are even more abundant up close, especially on his nose and cheekbones. His brown undercut quite compliments his face shape and brings out his sincere, brown eyes. Freckles is slightly taller than him by two inches or so, but Jean’s still growing (he hopes) so that doesn’t really matter. Jean’s gaze lowers to fall upon defined collarbones, slightly hidden behind a sweatshirt that _really_ accentuates the ripples in his biceps. 

Now, Jean is an art major and he’s seen a lot of beautiful artworks, but this boy is a masterpiece in life’s art gallery. 

It’s only after Jean hears Eren’s “Smell ya later, Reiner!” when he realizes that he’s been staring at Freckles for longer than what is considered socially acceptable.

“I-uh, so, uh, what can I get for you?” Jean splutters out with the precision of a donkey. He can feel the tips of his ears heating up and he tries to maintain eye contact with Freckles without getting lost in those gorgeous brown eyes. 

Freckles also seems slightly distracted before he’s aware that Jean has asked him a question. The taller boy’s eyebrows raise in surprise and his cheeks are slightly dusted with pink, but Jean’s too busy wallowing in self-embarrassment to notice. “Oh! Uhm. I would like a grande vanilla latte with a dash of cinnamon, please.” 

_Oh god, even his voice is amazing._ Jean is dying on the inside, but he writes down the order on a grande cup and musters up enough courage to nonchalantly ask his next question, “Can I get a name?” _Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-_

“Marco,” he says with a timid smile and Jean thinks that his heart has just stopped, someone call an ambulance and resuscitate him _because Freckles has a name._

“Marco,” Jean repeats, and he really likes the way his name rolls off his tongue. Jean thinks he hears a sharp intake of breath as he writes down “m-a-r-c-o” on the cup, but he brushes it off as his imagination. After setting the cup down, Jean punches the order into the cash register and says, “That’ll be $4.50.”

When Jean glances back up, he’s met with the adorable sight of Marco’s gaze slightly averted to the ground and his right hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Jean silently wishes he was Marco’s right hand at the moment (don’t even go there) but his job comes before personal pleasures so he restates the price and asks for his form of payment.

The freckled boy apologizes for spacing out and quickly gives Jean a ten dollar bill. Jean nervously fumbles with finding the correct change but he successfully hands a five and two quarters back to Marco. “Your drink will be at the end of the counter when it’s ready,” he tells him as he begins brewing his latte. Marco gives him another smile in affirmation and Jean thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

At this point, Jean has realized that he should actually do his job, so he steams the milk and grinds the espresso beans, all while holding the cup with Marco’s name on it. Jean wants to emphasize (mostly to himself) that he is definitely not a creep. He just likes the texture of the cup. He’s definitely not still holding Marco’s cup throughout the entire process just because he likes the way that Marco’s name fits perfectly below their shop’s logo, no, definitely not. 

Jean is not a creep. 

(But now he’s not too sure, as he realizes that he will have to let go of the cup soon after adding in the vanilla syrup and froth. He sprinkles the cinnamon on top of the drink and Jean’s never felt more reluctant to part with an inanimate object in his entire life.) 

_A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,_ Jean thinks as he completes Marco’s order and calls out his name. Yeah, Jean definitely likes the way Marco’s name sounds from his lips. He looks up in search of the freckled boy, only to see that Marco is already looking at him with an attentive smile. Jean is honestly surprised that his knees haven’t given out yet.

“Thanks,” Marco says as Jean hands him his drink. He pauses for a second and adds, “Jean.” Jean is utterly shocked by Marco’s gentle smile and the way _his_ name rolls off _his_ tongue and _oh my god he knows my name he knows my name HE KNOWS MY NAME HOW DID HE KNOW MY NAME??? WAIT. NAME TAG? NAME TAG. OKAY. NAME TAG.’_

Jean manages to croak out a “bye, come again” before Marco waves a hand in goodbye and walks out the store with his team. The shop settles back into the quiet buzz of the espresso machine and an occasional scrape from a chair. It’s customary to clean up after a large group of customers have left the shop, but once Jean notices the extra $5.50 in his tip jar, he finds that he’s frozen in place and cannot move an inch. 

_Freckles came in here. His name is Marco. He’s even more attractive up close. He’s pretty tall. His name is Marco. I made him a drink. Freckles likes vanilla lattes with a dash of cinnamon. His name is Marco. He thanked me for the drink. He left a hefty tip. He knows my name. He said my name. Oh my god, he said my name he said my name he said my name he said my name-_

“You know, you’ll start collecting dust if you keep standing there gaping like a fish.” Jean’s mind jolts back into his body before he sends a weak glare at Eren. His co-worker looks somewhat irritated with Jean’s behaviour today, but Jean can see something underlying that look of annoyance. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jean supplies feebly. He starts reorganizing the syrup pumps and wiping away excess from the spouts when he can feel Eren inching closer to him. By the time Jean has finished restocking the bakery counter, Eren is practically breathing down his neck with a self-satisfied look on his face. He’s had enough of the close proximity so he spits out, “Jaeger, what the fuck do you want?!”

“Nothing,” Eren is being coy and that pisses Jean off even more. Eren backs off a little before continuing. “Just noticed that you and Marco were getting a little friendly, hm?” 

Jean can definitely feel his cheeks heating up. He prays that Eren won’t notice, but judging by the cocky smirk he’s wearing, he already has. 

“So? I was just making him a drink.” Jean turns away from Eren in a lame attempt to hide his own embarrassment, but he quickly turns back around when his brain processes a very important piece of information. “Wait, how did you know that his name was Marco?” 

“Mutual friends.” Eren seems satisfied with Jean’s sudden interest. “In case you’re wondering, he’s a third-year.”

“I-I wasn’t asking!” Jean splutters but soaks the information in anyway. Third-year. That means he’s one year older than him and Eren. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, not like I was gonna tell you anything else.” Eren unties his apron and starts to head toward the employee room in the back. Jean is currently experiencing more emotional stress than he does over his term papers. However, his desperation overrules his pride as he grasps Eren by the elbow and reluctantly (very, _very_ reluctantly) asks him to tell him more about Marco.

Eren complies with a knowing smirk.

*****

It’s past 8pm when Jean leaves the shop with a wave to Eren and pep in his step. As he walks back to his dorm, Jean mulls over his new found information.

His full name is Marco Bodt. He’s a third-year psychology major and starting quarterback on the football team. He’s from a small town in Germany, not too far from Jean’s father’s hometown. Marco usually hangs out with his teammates and Eren’s childhood friend, Armin. His favourite colour is white and he eats strawberry shortcake almost religiously. 

(Jean’s not really sure why Eren told him the last part, but hey, Marco has pretty good taste. He’s got a sweet tooth, huh?)

Upon arriving, Jean swiftly unlocks his door and immediately sheds his sweater. His room is a mess; the bed is unmade, clothes askew, and old sketches are hazardously scattered across the floor. Jean reflects on how thankful he is for the fact that he does not have a roommate as he tosses his satchel onto his bed. He carefully sidesteps his paintings and portraits to fling himself on his mattress, the springs creaking slightly at the sudden weight. He stays like that for a few minutes, face in his comforter and feet dangling off the edge of the bed frame, before breathing a muffled sigh and pushing himself onto his back. Jean grabs his sketchbook from his satchel and flips through each new page of drawings he completed today.

He briefly reviews his sketches of trees and random people from earlier in his break before landing on the first of many pages of Marco Bodt. Jean stares intently at each sketch and admires the little details that make Marco so unique. The slight dip in the bridge of his nose, the way his eyebrows crease when he’s confused, the honesty reflected in his eyes. Blushing at his thoughts, Jean turns to the next page, and the next, and the next, only to find that he has dedicated 7 pages to one freckled Marco Bodt. 

_Oh fuck,_ Jean puts a hand over his face as he pictures Marco’s smile, _I’ve got it bad. Shit._

Jean takes a deep breath before contemplating his next actions. Before he can change his mind, he quickly grabs an HB pencil from his bedside table and flips back to the first page of his sketches of Marco. He erases his previous scrawl of ‘Freckles’ at the top of the page before writing “Marco” next to each and every sketch. Jean holds his sketchbook above his face and stares before stuffing it back into his satchel. He sits up to pull his comforter over his body and plops onto his pillow. He closes his eyes- shower be damned, it’s been a really long day- and tries to get some sleep.

As he re-evaluates his actions throughout the day, Jean has only one thought before falling asleep: _Shit. I am a creep._

*****

Over the next month, Jean finds that he has subconsciously settled into a routine that consists of sketching, vanilla lattes, and Marco Bodt. 

Every Monday and Thursday morning, Jean wakes up early enough to arrive for the morning shift at the coffee shop with Sasha and Levi. The trio work together to handle various obnoxious demands and mass orders, all while restocking the bakery counter and wiping off the table tops. There’s a lull between the breakfast and lunch rush, which allows Jean to do inventory with a piece of mind. Jean always takes his break after the lunch rush (at 1:35pm, to be precise, but who’s keeping track) and goes out the back door, sits near the chain-link fence with his sketchbook, and draws Marco from a somewhat acceptable distance. He sketches a different part of Marco every time; his feet, thighs, forearms and neck have become regular additions to his sketchbook. (He never forgets to draw Marco’s face, though. Never.) Sometimes, Marco will catch Jean staring and give him a small wave before turning back to his teammates, and sometimes, Jean will have just enough time to wave back before his ears heat up and he starts sweating. 

After the previous incident, Jean always makes sure to go back to work on time to see Eren replacing Sasha for the afternoon shift and Levi sticking around to supervise. Jean brews and takes orders, but he can’t seem to stifle his anticipation. On these days, at approximately 3:25pm, Marco comes into the shop to order a grande vanilla latte with a dash of cinnamon. By the third week, Jean prepares the latte for Marco in advance so he has a chance to throw in some small talk (“H-how was practice?” “Ah, it was good! How was, uhm. Sitting?” Jean blushes and shoves the drink into Marco’s hand). Jean feels somewhat elated because Marco has become a regular at this coffee shop and consistently leaves a large tip in Jean’s jar (“You know, you really don’t need to tip this much every time you come here.” “What if I want to?” “... Just, take your drink.”) He always feels rather empty after Marco leaves the shop with a polite goodbye, but Jean looks forward to the next time he’ll see him again. 

On the rest of the weekdays, Jean has classes which he somehow manages a solid high-80 average in. Between the coffee shop and Marco and sketching, Jean’s not really sure how he’s even _passing_ some of these courses, but hey, he’ll take it. 

(But every so often, as he’s walking out of his photography history class, Jean catches a glimpse of Marco leaving his criminology class with Eren’s friend, Armin. His heart feels like it’s trying to jump out of its chest at the sight of Marco being so _friendly_ with Armin but he ignores the sinking feeling in favour of leaving before he’s caught staring.)

It’s the weekends that Jean looks forward to the most, though. On Saturdays, Jean has the privilege of sleeping in past noon before he leaves for work. By the time he arrives at the coffee shop, the lunch rush is over and Jean replaces Levi as supervisor (“Don’t fuck this up, Kirschstein.” “I- uh. Yes sir!”). Eren is always already behind the counter when he shows up, cleaning used blenders and refilling empty syrup pumps. The afternoons typically pass in a blur of routine; Eren’s regulars usually come in on Saturdays, but the shop is relatively empty except for a few stressed students and businessmen. Jean is really only looking forward to the evening (at around 7:15pm, but again, who’s keeping track) when Marco visits the shop for a quick drink. On these evenings, Marco always orders a caramel frappuccino instead of his usual vanilla latte. Jean won’t admit that he has Marco’s coffee schedule memorized, but it’s probably obvious by the way he fidgets with his piercings and constantly glances at the clock prior to Marco’s arrival. After Marco pays and picks up his drink, he offers a quiet “thank you” and sometimes, Jean wonders if the accidental brush of their fingers can still be considered accidental when it happens literally every time. 

But if Saturdays are an ice cream sundae, Sundays are the sprinkles and cherry on top. Since this is typically their busiest work day, Jean has the early morning and afternoon shift with Sasha, Eren and Levi. Sunday is the day where students in large study groups pile into the shop, crowd around the tables and loveseats, and work their asses off (from time to time, Jean thinks he can hear crying and typing coming simultaneously from somewhere in the room, but really, he can sympathize with that poor soul). Oddly enough, Jean always ends up cleaning up some sort of spill on Sundays, whether it’s a drink or a dropped scone, it happens _all the time. It doesn’t matter, though,_ Jean tells himself, because at approximately 1:45pm (okay, maybe Jean _is_ keeping track, whatever), Marco comes into the shop with a backpack, orders his vanilla latte and sits in the shop for 3 hours.

Yeah. That’s right. _Three. Hours._

Jean closes his eyes and silently thanks whoever is listening for blessing him with these shifts. He quickly takes that back though, because that means he would be thanking Levi in the form of a deity and he’s not really comfortable with that thought. 

On Sundays, Jean quickly prepares Marco’s drink and personally delivers the latte to his table with a coaster and a friendly “welcome back.” Marco greets him back with an award winning smile and a warm “thanks” before taking a sip of his latte and breathing out a content sigh. Jean needs to avert his eyes because _he’s so cute oh god,_ and goes back to the counter with a “well, bye” before he can allow his blush to deepen. Eren always gives Jean this look that basically screams, “ _really?_ ” when he goes back to his position in front of the cash, but Jean doesn’t think much of it. 

Throughout the afternoon, Jean finds that he is stuck in the most awkward pickle he’s ever had the pleasure of being in. Occasionally (or more than occasionally), he glances over to Marco’s table and sees his brow furrowed in concentration or his teeth lightly scraping against the edge of the pencil. Jean looks away before anyone notices him looking at the freckled customer, but he finds himself wanting to stare more. His afternoon passes with careful glances, noting the way Marco taps his forefinger against the table when he’s deep in thought and how his tongue reaches out to swipe his bottom lip when he’s frustrated. 

However, the next time Jean glances over to Marco’s table, he finds that Marco is already looking at him and he nearly drops his pitcher in surprise. They both look away immediately, but Jean can feel the blush rising up his neck to his ears, settling bright scarlet on his cheeks. He’s praying that Marco won’t see him like this, because turning into the colour of a tomato is so unmanly and Jean is a manly man. By the time Jean finishes recovering from that incident, he hears a shuffling of papers and the scrape of a chair near Marco’s table. Jean looks up to see Marco put on his backpack and throw his finished latte away; is it 4:45pm already? His shoulders sag in disappointment, but he calls out to Marco anyway. “Have a nice day!” 

Marco turns his head around with a smile to give Jean a small wave (is that a slight blush on his cheeks? Maybe Jean really is going crazy) and says, “bye, Jean,” before leaving the shop. Jean stands and stares at the closed door, biting his lip to prevent the inevitable grin that threatens to take over his lips. He doesn’t think he’s been this happy in so long, over fleeting glances and coincidental touches, and simply Marco’s reoccurring presence in Jean’s life. His mind starts wandering, dreaming of being able to hold Marco’s hand and carefully count the freckles on each part of his body, never forgetting to slowly kiss each one with the tenderness of a lover-

“Oh my god, just ask him out already!” Jean’s eyes snap to the voice, of course, it’s Eren again, hunched over, hands gripping the counter so hard his knuckles are turning white, with a look of utter exasperation on his face. 

“I- what? I don’t- he’s not, I- no!” 

“Jean, this is getting so fucking adorable and disgusting that I think I’m going to need to ask Levi to change my shifts again.” 

“What? Change shifts? Why?” Jean looks at Eren with raised eyebrows. Sure, they kind of hate each other, but in all honesty, Jean considers Eren a close friend and he’s pretty sure Eren feels the same. Eren huffs his cheeks in frustration and gets up from the counter to stand in front of Jean.

“How can you be so fucking oblivious?!” Eren places his hands on Jean’s shoulders and looks him dead in the eye. Jean starts sweating profusely and his eye twitches. Some customers have noticed the commotion between the two workers, but they turn away in indifference. “Oh my god, just trust me on this bro. Listen carefully okay? Marco only comes in this shop when you’re on shift, I swear, why else do you think he started showing up here?! He doesn’t even come here on the days you don’t work, what the fuck is up with that?” 

Jean can see people in the shop turning their attention to his and Eren’s conversation now. Even Sasha and Levi stop brewing coffee for a moment to tune in. 

“Well, maybe he’s only available on those days!” Jean fires back, slightly taken aback by Eren’s words. The information makes his heart soar, the thought of Marco coming for him and only him. But no, Jean refuses to allow himself to hope, because hope means he’s allowing himself to get his heart stomped on and trampled by the fear of rejection. 

“You know, Kirschstein, you can be a real fucking idiot sometimes!” His words hurt a little and Jean opens his mouth to protest, but Eren tightens his grip on his shoulders and cuts him off. “You don’t have to admit anything to me or anyone else, but you need to get it in your thick skull that Marco has been coming in this shop for the past month at the exact same times every week. If that doesn’t scream ‘talk to me, please,’ then I don’t know what does!” 

Jean can see that everyone in the shop has turned their chairs toward the two and he hears Sasha asking Levi if they have popcorn in the back room. 

“But that doesn’t mean he fucking likes me! I just-” He feels scrutinized under Eren’s (and the rest of the shop’s) stare, but maybe what Eren is saying is right (insert puking noise here). Maybe he needs to actually start a proper conversation with Marco in order to get somewhere with this... whatever this thing they have going on is. Jean squirms a little before continuing. “Okay. Okay, I’ll, uh. Fuck. I’ll ask him to hang out or something when he comes tomorrow. Er, I mean, if he comes tomorrow.” 

The coffee shop suddenly bursts into applause and several customers yell words of encouragement to Jean. He thinks he hears someone crying at how beautiful that was. Sasha sounds disappointed that fists weren’t thrown and Levi just rolls his eyes and walks away. 

Eren takes his hands off Jean’s shoulders and gives him a cheeky grin. “Really, horseface? I think we both know that he’ll _definitely_ be coming tomorrow. 3:25pm sharp, right?”

Jean blushes and throws a bag of coffee grinds at Eren’s face.

*****

The next day, Jean works the morning shift with shaking fingers and mixed feelings. He’s excited to finally talk to Marco, but he’s trembling with nervousness at the same time. _What if he says no? What if he thinks I am a creep? Well, he wouldn’t be wrong..._ When he takes his break, Jean simply sits near the fence and watches Marco practice. He doesn’t bring his sketchbook or his phone and he’s left alone with his thoughts (and the brilliant sight of Marco Bodt running, laughing, catching... He could go on forever, really). Jean spends his break mulling over what to say, how to say it and when to say it. He rehearses his words with a blade of grass and feels confident when he walks back into the shop. 

Eren is back behind the counter for his shift and when he notices Jean enter, he gives him a supportive glare. Jean replies with a grumpy, “yeah, yeah, I know,” but he’s glad that Eren is here for support. 

True to Eren’s words, Marco comes into the coffee shop at precisely 3:24pm with a smile that lights up every corner of the room. Jean starts sweating because this is go time, no more stupid small talk and awkward eye contact. He’s going to become Marco’s friend today and no one is going to stop him.

“Hey Jean,” Marco greets at the counter. Jean feels like he’s being blinded by the brightest star he’s ever seen. “I’ll have my usual, please.” 

“Sure, just gimme a sec.” Jean picks up a grande cup and turns on the grinder. He’s thought this through and doesn’t have Marco’s drink prepared early today on purpose. “So, uh, how was your day?” 

Marco looks up at him with surprise and Jean thinks _Oh fuck, I fucked up already oh god oh god_ but that expression quickly melts into one of content. 

“It was good! Class was a bore, but practice was pretty fun. I’ve really just been itching to go home and finish reading this book but...” Marco trails off and shuffles his feet. Jean thinks it’s cute. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“N-no! You’re not rambling at all, but- ah, what book were you reading?” Steaming milk and trying to maintain a solid conversation with Marco is harder than Jean thought it would be, but this is probably the most they’ve ever really said to each other so Jean thinks it’s a major improvement. 

“I’m a little more than halfway done the last volume of Attack on Titan,” Marco says and Jean almost drops the steamed milk because he _loves_ Attack on Titan. 

“Holy shit, that’s my favourite series!” Jean radiates with the enthusiasm of his inner fanboy and he can’t help but give Marco a wide grin. “What part are you at?”

“They just escaped Eren’s basement with the formula, but of course, Eren had to go and get kidnapped again...” Marco looks extremely frustrated and Jean definitely understands the feeling. He pours the froth into the drink and stirs carefully.

“I know right? And didn’t you love the part when Commander Erwin found the second key under Ymir’s mattress-”

“-and he pieced her and Eren’s keys together-”

“-and the teeth of the two keys spelt-”

“ ‘D-I-E’?!” They exclaim at the same time with wide eyes and wider grins. They’re staring at each other in a mixture of awe and shock, and Jean can’t help but notice how passionate Marco is when he talks about something he loves, the way his eyes glisten and his lips tug a little higher in the left corner. Jean wonders where Marco’s been all his life. 

“Ah, uhm,” Jean starts, because they’ve both been silent and staring for _way too long,_ and he gets an idea. “So, you’ve heard about the Attack on Titan movie adaptation right?” 

“Oh, yes! I watched the trailer a few weeks ago and it looks amazing.” 

“Okay, uh. Well, it comes out this Friday and er, since we both, y’know, like the series so much, would you. Uh. Would you wanna watch it together maybe?” Jean internally cringes at his stammering and how utterly uncool he sounded, but hey, at least his knees didn’t give out like he thought they would’ve. 

Marco’s cheeks flush a lovely, light pink, and Jean decides he would spend forever mixing paints to find that perfect shade. He gives Jean a small smile and says, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Jean’s heart flies around the world twice and settles back into his chest with a thud. 

“Cool! Er, Friday then?” Marco nods in affirmation. This isn’t really turning out how Jean had initially planned, but seeing the Attack on Titan movie with Marco Bodt is a million times better than his original idea (which was to ‘accidentally’ spill coffee on himself so that Marco would feel obliged to help him clean up and they would talk and live happily ever after. _...Wow,_ he thinks to himself, _thank god that didn’t happen_ ). He finally hands Marco his vanilla latte and summons enough courage to ask one last question. 

“Could I get your phone number? So we can, like, discuss details and stuff.” Jean mentally slaps himself because _that was so lame._

“Sure,” Marco reaches into his sweater pocket to grab his phone and places it on the counter. Jean picks it up (and he’s most definitely not freaking out about touching one of Marco’s precious belongings), types his number into a new contact under ‘Jean Kirschstein’ and hands the phone back to Marco with a sense of accomplishment. “I’ll text you later, okay?” 

It’s hard, but Jean suppresses his desire to squeal like a school girl and says “okay.” With another bright smile, Marco takes a sip of his latte before he makes his way to the exit of the coffee shop. As he opens the front door, Marco turns back to the barista and mutters a quiet, “bye, Jean,” and quickly exits the shop. 

After that, Jean is left standing at the counter, not quite believing what just happened. He pinches himself twice just to make sure he’s not dreaming (he’s not, oh god, he’s not) and he turns to Eren in disbelief. 

“I... did it,” is all Jean can say right now because he’s shocked to the core with Marco, Marco, Marco. Eren walks over and claps a hand on Jean’s back. 

“You did it, Jean,” Eren says like a father speaking to his pride and joy, “you did it.”

*****

When Jean is back at his dorm later that night, he’s lounging on his bed when his ringer goes off on the opposite side of the room. Jean fights an unnecessary battle as he trips over computer cords and evades unfinished projects to scramble to his cell phone. He nearly drops the phone in anticipation and squints a little when the bright glare of the screen opens. 

 

**From: Unknown Number**   
**Hi, Jean! This is Marco from the coffee shop.**

 

Immediately after reading the text, he saves the number under “Marco” and quickly types a reply. (And no, Jean’s not desperate, he just. Really likes talking to Marco. That’s all.)

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**hey !! cool i got the txt, as u can probably tell lol**

 

Before hitting send, Jean mulls over his message. _Should I bring up the movie yet? Do I sound too eager if I text back right away? Oh my god._ His thumb hovers over the send button, indecision obvious in his actions, but he hits send anyway. Jean hears the ‘ding’ that indicates that his message has been sent, and now he waits. 

He walks to a corner (his sitting corner) and sits, tucking his legs in close to his chest. His phone is about a foot away on the ground and he glares holes into it, as if it will make Marco text back faster. He probably looks pathetic, back against the wall and chin atop his knees, but he could really care less at this point. Jean starts fidgeting with his industrial piercing because _it’s been like 5 minutes why has he not texted back yet,_ but he nearly lunges for his phone when the new message notification lights up his screen. 

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Yeah, haha, I kind of got that (: So, what time did you want to see the movie on Friday?**

 

Jean pumps his fist in the air.

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**how bout the 7pm showing at the theatre just off campus??**

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**That sounds great! Do you want to me to pick you up?**

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**nah its ok, i dont wanna inconvenience u. meet u there @ 6:45?**

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**It wouldn’t be an inconvenience, but okay! 6:45 it is ;)**

 

A winky face. Jean’s eyes go wide and he thinks he’s hyperventilating because Marco just sent a _winky face_ after confirming their movie plan. _Does Marco understand the implications of sending a winky face? Hold up. Is this a date? Does he think this is a date? Wait, did I ask him out on a date? Oh my god, I think I asked him out on a date. What the fuck do I say back? Do I use a winky face too? No, that’s too seductive, I should-_

His phone lights up again with another text.

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Sorry, I meant :) !!!**

 

Jean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding (though out of relief or disappointment, he’s not too sure) and leans his head back against the wall. _So it was a mistake,_ he closes his eyes and holds his phone close to his chest. He stays like that for a few minutes, taking deep breaths and reorganizing his thoughts. Afterwards, he sends out a quick “no worries” to Marco before throwing his phone on his bed and walking over to his newly bought canvas. 

Jean runs a hand through his hair and picks the canvas up, setting it on the easel near his desk. He takes a seat on the stool and stares at the blank canvas in contemplation. There isn’t really much to think about, it’s just a canvas, but Jean finds this process therapeutic. He finds beauty in the idea of a clean slate and he treasures the time he has to stop, eliminate all negative thoughts, and just stare. 

Eventually, the paintbrush comes first, and Jean lets it sit delicately in his hand before feeling its bristles against his fingertips. His paints follow after, and Jean sees an untold story behind each individual bottle of paint. He mixes his palette with experience, with passion, with devotion. Jean’s used to these desires; they come with the first snowfall of December and the last fog of April, but this impulse, this _need_ feels different. Jean can’t stop himself when he paints light browns on pale peaches, and dark charcoal on murky beige. Jean doesn’t want to stop when he adds luminous champagne to bold maroon, and pastel pink to topaz suns. He paints and paints and paints, never stopping, never glancing away. 

When Jean finally puts down his paintbrush in completion (or is it defeat?), he goes off to bed and doesn’t spare a single glance at his new portrait of Marco.

*****

On Wednesday, Jean drags himself to his painting class and instantly regrets it because he’s reminded of what he did Monday night.

_Shit, I shouldn’t have painted Marco. Where the hell do you even put a portrait of some random guy without people finding it suspicious?_ Jean grimaces when he remembers the feeling of losing control and surrendering himself to his art. As lame as it sounds, it happens more often than he’d like to admit. His scowl deepens when he thinks back to the events that led up to his sudden impulse to paint, and he doesn’t like the gut-wrenching feeling of disappointment he gets. 

He sighs, it’s better to just forget about it. Marco seemed unfazed by his slip up, and Jean is probably making a big deal out of nothing. This class doesn’t help much with distractions, though; his prof is droning on and on about the importance of perception and representation of intensity and half the class looks like they’re ready to drop dead. Jean stifles a yawn, but perks up when his phone vibrates in his pocket. 

When he sees the message, he allows a grin to overtake his features and instantly forgets why he was moping around. 

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Oh my God. Jean, I finally finished Attack on Titan. Holy cheese balls.**

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**omg WASNT THE ENDING AWESOME??? I KNEW ARMIN WAS GONNA B THE LAST SURVIVOR, I CALLED THAT SHIT!**

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**I’m frozen in shock right now. I can’t believe Mikasa sacrificed herself, yet Eren still got himself killed.**

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**oh my goooddd i know rite, like how useless could u get??? but i mean i guess it was kinda foreshadowed from erwin’s thumb theorem...**

 

Jean continues to text Marco throughout his day, ignoring the looks of disapproval from his professors and raised eyebrows from his friends. They talk about their personal theories for Attack on Titan (Marco thinks that the number of people eaten by each titan influences the amount of intelligence they have. Jean thinks that’s gross) before simply talking about their day (Marco is in the middle of creating a tower of cheetos in his dorm. Jean is really craving cheetos now).

Their conversation eventually comes to a lull, which is to be expected because Jean’s thumbs are really sore and Marco finishes their discussion with a declaration of needing to go to an evening class. Jean texts him a quick “alright, see ya,” and he walks around with a smile for the rest of the night.

*****

Thursday passes as usual; Jean wakes up for his shift at the coffee shop and Marco comes in the afternoon for his vanilla latte. They smile at each other, and Jean can’t help but think that this is how things should be. Jean and Marco, Marco and Jean. They talk a little (“Doesn’t wearing that same uniform everyday get boring?” “I dunno, does playing football everyday get boring?” “Touché,”) before Marco says he needs to leave to go to an unscheduled practice. Jean suppresses a frown as he watches Marco walk toward the door. Before Marco leaves, he turns around to face Jean with a wide grin and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jean offers a smile and a wave in reply because he’s too shaken up by the reminder that _they have movie plans tomorrow._ Jean goes to bed that night with anticipation crawling up his skin and impatience in his veins.

*****

When Jean wakes up on Friday, he throws his comforter off his body and jumps out of bed with the grace of a turkey. Luckily, he sticks the landing and checks the clock (it’s 11:20am, awesome) before he proceeds to his morning routine. 

Jean takes extra care to primp himself today; he shaves (though there wasn’t much hair to begin with) and puts some gel in his hair. His favourite piercings are laid out on his dresser and he carefully replaces them. By the time Jean’s dressed in his favourite green flannel shirt and a pair of stonewash jeans, it’s time for him to grab lunch before his contemporary art issues class at 1pm. 

Upon arriving to class, some of his friends comment on his appearance (“Wow, Jean, you’re looking real spiffy today!” “Yeah, Jean’s got a hot date tonight.” “Shut the fuck up, Jaeger. And besides, it’s not a date.”) before they settle into their seats. Jean finds that this class is extremely long today. Though he knows it’s because he’s anticipating what comes later tonight at a quarter to 7, he’s not quite ready to admit that to himself yet.

Immediately after the prof declares class to be over, Jean says goodbye to his friends and bolts out of the room. He checks the time on his phone, it’s 4:02pm now, and Jean’s rushing to get back to his dorm. There’s still plenty of time, about two hours, but he’s eager to go and mentally prepare himself for tonight. 

As he steps into his room, Jean’s phone beeps.

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Can’t wait for tonight! (:**

 

Fingers move quickly over the on-screen keyboard as Jean types a reply with a growing smile. 

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**OMG same i’m gunna fanboy so hard u hav no idea**

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Looks like we’ll be on the same boat. By the way, guess who bought an Attack on Titan t-shirt to wear to the premier?**

 

They continue texting each other for the remainder of the afternoon until Marco texts Jean that he’s going to start getting ready and he’ll see him at the theatre. Jean glances at his clock, it’s 6:05, and he decides he has just enough time to take a final look in the mirror before making his way to the cinema. 

The journey to Jean’s bathroom is short-lived (though he sees Marco’s portrait from the corner of his eye and chooses to dutifully ignore it) and he stands in front of the mirror in contemplation. He gives himself a onceover, fixes his hair with a light ruffle and some gel, and readjusts his piercings. Giving a big smile in the mirror, Jean attentively checks his teeth for any leftover food from lunch, and is satisfied with what he sees. After his hot date with the bathroom mirror, Jean goes to his desk, picks up his keys and wallet, and leaves. 

Even though the theatre is just off campus, it still takes Jean approximately 30 minutes to walk there. As he walks, Jean thinks back to when Marco offered him a ride in his text, but he was too embarrassed at the time to accept. _God, I was such a loser. Still am a loser._ Jean hates remembering his blubbering and pansy self because _wow,_ that was embarrassing, but also because he wants Marco to see him as someone that’s not, well, lame. 

Just before Jean crosses the street to get to the theatre, Marco sends him a text.

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Hey, are you here yet?**

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**almost, b there in liek a min**

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Okay! I’m outside the main entrance doors. (:**

 

And true to his words, Jean can see Marco waiting for him just above the staircase leading to the theatre entrance. He feels his heart doing backflips in his chest and his palms beginning to sweat as he calls out to the freckled boy and gives him a wave. When Marco looks up and sees Jean, his face lights up with a gorgeous smile that makes Jean want to run up and kiss him on the spot. (But he’s not going to do that of course, because that would be stupid, and foolish, and could jeopardize their friendship, and Marco probably doesn’t even see him that way, and wow Jean is a _total creep._ )

As Jean approaches Marco, he takes the time to appreciate his attire for the night. Marco’s wearing the Attack on Titan v-neck he mentioned before with a black cardigan and grey jeans. He’s topped off the outfit with black chucks and a vintage-looking watch. Jean’s trying (and failing) to avoid admiring the way that those jeans hug his hips perfectly and the obvious prominence of biceps through his cardigan. He manages to avert his gaze before a blush develops, and he greets Marco with a solid, “Yo.” 

“Hey to you, too.” Marco crosses his arms and gestures toward the doors with his head. “Ready to go watch the best series ever in film adaptation form?” 

“You bet I am.” 

The two boys walk into the theatre together and chat about their excitement and expectations for the movie. They even spend the entire line up to discuss the possible interpretations of the courtroom scene before purchasing their tickets. Surprisingly enough, there don’t seem to be too many people who have come to watch the Attack on Titan movie. Marco’s really the only one with any form of merch on, but Jean is extremely tempted to buy a survey corps necklace while they’re at the concession stand. 

After they’ve bought their food (Jean discovers that Marco has a passion for nachos and orange fanta), Jean and Marco make their way to their designated theatre. They trek up the stairs and pick the middlemost seats in the second to last row. Jean’s cracking a joke about titans and broccoli when he finally realizes the close proximity between himself and his not-so-small crush.

They’re only an arm movement’s away from brushing against each other and despite the dimmed lights, Jean can see every freckle and detail on Marco’s face. He tries to pay attention to what Marco’s saying, giving the odd “yeah” or “mhm” here and there, but his eyes are glazed over with affection and he finds his gaze wandering lower and lower to his lips. 

“Jean?” Marco says with slight concern and he snaps out of his trance with a jolt of realization. He can’t fuck this up, not when they’ve finally developed this friendship, and not when Marco’s so kind and honest. 

“Ah, sorry, it’s nothing. I just spaced out a little.” Jean sees Marco rub his neck sheepishly and he makes haste to correct himself. “N-not that it was because of you! I just, uh-”

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it that way.” The freckled boy cuts him off with a smile, and Jean knows that his words are sincere. They continue talking about the series and sharing Jean’s popcorn until the lights in the theatre go out and trailers stop rolling. Marco nudges Jean with his elbow to convey his excitement because _oh my god, the movie is starting, it’s fucking starting!_

Throughout the film, they both share mutual gasps at horrendously graphic death scenes and laugh at the parts of comedic relief. Jean momentarily forgets the limited distance between himself and Marco when his favourite parts are on screen (“Oh my god, did you see that?! _Did you see that?!_ ” “Holy shit, that was amazing, oh my god.”). Several people turn around to shush them, but they just turn to each other and snicker. 

As the movie is reaching its climax, the boys stop chatting in favour of soaking in every detail of the movie. Jean sneaks subtle glances at the freckled boy every so often and sees Marco’s eyes focused on the screen and the most precious grin on his face. He tries not to be aware of the heat radiating off Marco’s hand on the arm rest but it’s really impossible when all Jean wants to do is slot his fingers between his own. 

_No, stop it, Jean, you can’t think about this._ Waving away his thoughts, he reaches into the bag of popcorn between him, only to brush his hand against Marco’s doing the same thing. They both jerk back involuntarily and Jean only manages an “er, I uh- ” before Marco blushes and stutters out a quick “s-sorry.” The popcorn remains untouched for the remainder of the movie, and Jean can feel the awkward sitting in the air. 

When Attack on Titan finishes, Jean is left somewhat awestruck by the ending. When the two turn to each other, they both forget about the unease between them and exclaim at the same time, “That was awesome!” 

They get another shush from the crowd and Jean flips them off because the movie is over now, he can be as loud as he wants to, thank you very much. Marco just giggles and urges Jean toward the exit. 

Making their way outside the theatre, they discuss their favourite parts (“The courtroom scene was epic. Levi’s actor was perfect.” “Do you think it was real blood? Because I swear the crack of Eren’s jaw was legit.”) and their least favourite parts (“What the hell was up with the basement scene?” “Yeah, they took out some of the most important dialogue!”) of the movie. The boys continue to laugh and talk until Jean’ s stomach groans embarrassingly loud. 

“Hungry?” Marco laughs and Jean nods as he blushes bright scarlet. Jean’s discovered that Marco can be quite snarky despite his first impression. Shuffling his feet, Marco rubs the back of his neck and continues. “If you’re not busy, there’s a really good diner just across the street. We could go grab dinner..?”

“Yeah!” Jean exclaims and instantly regrets how eager he sounds. “I mean, I haven’t eaten yet, so that’d be awesome.”

“Great,” Marco gives Jean a big smile before they start making their way to the restaurant. Jean subconsciously plays with his industrial because they’re going to a restaurant, they’re grabbing dinner, they’re basically going on a date-but-not-date, and he’s internally freaking out. 

But as they settle in at their booth at the diner, Jean forgets all about his nervousness and loses himself in his conversation with Marco. They learn more about each other; Jean discovers that Marco’s favourite season is summer and he has 2 brothers and 4 sisters (“Damn, your parents were busy.” “Please, I’d really rather not think about my parents in that way.”). Marco is surprised to find out about Jean’s pez collection (“So for my birthday, Eren bought me the limited edition kuroko pez- wait, are you laughing?” “Pft, w-what? No, of course not, Jean.” “Fuck you, Marco, fuck you.”) and his passion for reading. Jean munches on his fries as he talks about how he hates that kids these days don’t have that same love for books that he does. He pauses when he notices that Marco’s been silent for a while and is staring at him with a smile on his face.

“W-what? Is there ketchup on my face?” 

“No, it’s not that. I just think that the way you talk about something you’re passionate about is, well, cute.” Jean chokes on his fries and he can’t prevent the blush that creeps up and deepens on his face. Even Marco seems slightly red, probably from realization of what he just said. 

“Uhm, thanks. W-well, do you have anything you’re passionate about?” 

“Besides Attack on Titan? Not much, to be honest, football is really the only thing that I find I truly love.” Marco fiddles with his straw, as if he’s thinking of whether or not to say his next words. “You know, our first game of the season is on Tuesday at 3:30. If you’d like, you should come watch m- us.”

If Jean thinks he was red before, he’s definitely brighter than a fire truck at Marco’s words. “I- yeah! Yeah. That’d be cool. I’m down.” 

“Great.” The freckled boy smiles to himself as he finishes the last of his meal. It’s a very familiar smile, Jean notices, the same one that Marco wears when he talks about his family and his love for football. So, why do the corners of Marco’s lips lift to accentuate his dimples when Jean agrees to watch his game? 

He doesn’t have much time to think about it though when Marco checks his phone and is shocked by what time it is. Jean only now looks out the window to notice that, wow, it’s really dark outside, and he should probably be getting back if he wants to be able to wake up for work tomorrow. He somewhat reluctantly suggests that they leave, and Marco nods in compliance. As they walk back to the theatre, the evening wind bites at Jean’s cheeks and leaves him shivering. Suddenly, Jean feels a warm weight on his shoulders, and he turns his head to see that Marco has taken off his cardigan and placed it around him. 

“You looked like you were cold,” Marco explains as if it’ll calm Jean’s erratic heartbeat and the ringing in his ears. No matter how elated he is, Marco’s now only wearing a t-shirt and Jean feels a little guilty. 

“But aren’t you cold, too?”

“It’s fine, I’m okay.” He notices the freckled boy suppress a shiver as goose bumps slowly trail up his forearms. Wrapping the cardigan around his body, Jean decides not to question it. He sighs; being this happy over an article of clothing is stupid, but it makes him feel warm and secure. The scent of Marco’s cologne lingers on the sweater and Jean’s overwhelmed with thoughts of Marco wrapping his arms around him, keeping him safe in his caress.

A silence settles during the rest of the walk back to the theatre parking lot. It’s not awkward though, Jean decides. In fact, he’s never felt more comfortable to just bask in Marco’s presence and appreciate this time they have together. Jean turns his head slightly to sneak a glance and finds that Marco is already looking at him. Even so, he doesn’t look away and Jean can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips. When he turns forward again, they’re at the car park and Jean has to fight a frown. He’s not ready for their night to be over, but voicing that thought would be presumptuous. 

“Is your car near the front?” 

“Oh, I uh, walked here.” 

“You walked?!” Marco sounds almost offended by the fact that Jean had to use his actual legs and feet to get to the theatre. Jean nods in reply. Walking has never really been an issue for him, especially since cars are too expensive and Jean’s coffee shop pay can’t cover the necessities and a down payment on a vehicle. Jean opens his mouth to tell Marco that he’ll be fine, but he’s interrupted before he can make a sound. “Let me give you a ride back to your dorm.” 

“What? No, I don’t want to be a bother-”

“No, no. I insist. Plus, it’s too dark to be walking alone. What if you – I don’t know – walk into a pole?” 

“A pole?” Jean deadpans. “Seriously, Marco?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind!” It’s dark but Jean thinks he can still see the faint flush on Marco’s cheeks. _Cute._ “Just, take the offer, okay? I really don’t mind.” 

Torn between wanting to spend more time with Marco and preferring not to accidentally embarrass himself in his car, Jean eventually accepts the ride with a shy “okay.” Marco guides them to his car, a vintage navy mustang, near the middle of the parking lot. Calling shotgun is usually tradition with Jean and his friends, but with Marco, nervousness envelopes his body as he climbs into the front seat. He buckles in his seatbelt and briefly describes the route to his dorm to Marco. 

The drive is spent mostly in silence; the only noises are from the radio and other cars in the distance. Jean wracks his brain for something to say, _anything_ to prolong the time they have together when he sees Marco take a left to pull up to his dorm. As the car comes to a stop along the curb outside the main door, Jean thanks Marco for the ride and somewhat reluctantly climbs out of his seat. He’s halfway out the door when Marco grabs his arm and pulls him back to look at him. 

“I, uhm. I had a great time tonight, Jean. We should do this again sometime. Y’know. Hangout.” Jean’s heart flutters at Marco’s words and the way he bites his lip to hide his smile. Giving his biggest grin, Jean nods vigorously. 

“Yeah. We should.” Their gazes linger for a second too long, and Jean feels trapped by Marco’s brown eyes and light coloured freckles. Before Jean is tempted to lean in and kiss those perfect lips, he gets out of the car and gives Marco a final wave. “G’night.” 

“Good night, Jean.” Standing outside his dorm, he waits until he can’t see the backlights of Marco’s car before heading inside. 

It’s only an hour later – as Jean’s still awake and thinking back to the events that occurred tonight with a lazy smile – when he notices that Marco’s cardigan is still wrapped around his shoulders.

*****

The next day at work, Jean is practically radiating sunflowers and rainbows. He serves every customer with a bright grin and willingly takes out the trash when Eren tells him to. When he comes back inside, Eren is wearing the biggest pair of sunglasses he’s ever seen. After Jean asks him about it, all Eren says is, “your happiness is going to make me go blind.”

In the evening, Marco walks into the shop and Jean greets him with a wide smile. The barista makes him his usual Saturday treat, a caramel frappuccino, and he draws a smiley face on the side of the cup. They chat for a bit, meaningless small talk turning into flirtatious smiles and not-so-coincidental touches. Jean thinks he hears Eren retching in the background, muttering something along the lines of “should’ve changed shifts when I had the chance...” He ignores it in favour of giving his full attention to Marco and his story about how Reiner got caught streaking in the courtyard earlier today. 

The freckled boy seems to be staying longer than usual this evening, not that Jean minds, no, not at all. This just means more time to spend with the one he likes (yes, likes, very much, actually) and enjoy the fleeting moments they have together. As Marco fiddles with the buttons on his sweater, Jean is suddenly reminded of the cardigan sitting on his easel. He’s waiting for Marco to bring it up because Jean’s too embarrassed to do so himself. Plus, he really likes how his scent still lingers on the cardigan and the way it looks just right sitting in his room, as if he owns something to call Marco his. In all honesty, Jean doesn’t even want to give it back, so he’s really hoping that Marco _won’t_ bring it up.

Luckily, the topic of the cardigan is not brought up (to Jean’s relief). Marco leaves with a smile and a quick reminder of the football game on Tuesday. Jean waves goodbye with a stupid expression on his face, and Eren snorts in the background. He tells his co-worker to shut up, his attitude really isn’t appreciated, but Eren just ignores his retort and continues restocking the pastry counter with a smirk. 

Jean sighs and starts wiping down the counter. He doesn’t want to ruin what he has with Marco. It’s something so delicate, easy enough to unravel with a single tug. It’s something so right, yet he doesn’t have the courage to pursue what he really wants out of the fear of rejection. But, he loves being able to see Marco’s smile every day, and he loves it even more when he’s the reason behind that smile. So with that, he thinks he’s satisfied with this friendship they’ve established, and pushing beyond that would be irrational and stupid. 

When Jean lies in bed later that night, Marco’s cardigan is neatly folded next to his pillow. He considers sniffing it one more time, but he decides against it because that would be creepy, even for Jean’s standards. Besides, he can faintly smell Marco’s scent without even having to hold it against his nose and he’s content with that. Jean curls up in his blanket and lets his thoughts wander to Marco’s smile, Marco’s hands, Marco’s car, Marco’s everything. He hesitates, but just for tonight, he allows himself to imagine waking up next to Marco, giving him good morning kisses and making him breakfast in bed. He allows himself the thought of Marco meeting his parents and making him undeniably happy. He allows himself to think about how much he really likes Marco as he falls asleep with one last thought. 

_What if he liked me, too?_

*****

Tuesday morning comes and goes without much excitement, Jean finds as he leaves his last class of the day. It’s 1:30pm, just two hours before Marco’s football game. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he smiles when he sees the new text from Marco. He quickly types a sarcastic reply and leaves the lecture building. Ever since their “movie date” on Friday, the two have been texting each other much more frequently (Jean choked on his food and nearly died when Marco sent a winky face for the first time). 

_It’s a nice day,_ Jean thinks as he glances up at the sky. There are hardly any clouds and the sun doesn’t make it unbearable to open his eyes. As he’s walking back to his dorm, he overhears a group of students’ conversation.

“I just walked by the football field and the bleachers were almost _full_ with people!” 

“Wow, must be a crowd.” 

“Well, it _is_ their first game of the season. Plus, they’re playing that rival university from two towns over, the one we beat in the finals last year.” 

“Jeez, I’d hate to be watching the game by myself; thank goodness you guys came with.” 

The art major halts in his path and mulls over the stranger’s words. _Alone? Shit. I’m gonna be alone in the stands. Fuck. I need to find someone to go with..._ He pulls out his phone and texts the first person that comes to mind.

 

**To: Jaeger**   
**yo r u goin to the fball game**

 

**From: Jaeger**   
**What, are you too pussy to go to the game alone?**

 

**To: Jaeger**   
**stfu do u wanna come or not**

 

**From: Jaeger**   
**Meet you at your dorm at 3**

 

Satisfied, Jean makes his way back to his dorm and changes into something more appropriate to wear to a football game. When Eren knocks on his door at 3:05pm, Jean snorts at Eren’s stupid t-shirt with a giant basketball on it. He claims it was the only shirt he had that related to any sort of sport, but Jean can’t stop laughing long enough to listen to him. Eren ends up pushing Jean into a tree, and they trip and laugh at each other all the way to the football field. 

By the time the two baristas get to the field, both teams have already finished warming up and the bleachers are completely filled. They manage to get a spot near at the back of the left-most stand, and Jean lets his eyes wander until they fall upon Marco. His jersey number is 14 (this is also Jean’s new favourite number) and Jean doesn’t take his eyes off the freckled player until the ref blows the whistle to begin the game. Eren nudges him with his elbow and tells him to “stop being such a sap.” 

It’s only now that Jean notices the difference between on- and off-field Marco. While Marco shouts plays and leads his team, his face is locked in a serious expression with eyes that burn with passion and intensity. However, when Marco comes into the coffee shop and orders his vanilla lattes, he radiates with gentle smiles and kind, warm gazes. Jean decides that he likes both sides of Marco, the fierce and the good-natured, just as equally. He’s so distracted by his thoughts that by halftime, he doesn’t even notice that their team is losing 6 - 17.

Jean finds Marco in the team huddle during the break and he notices his look of distress. Though Jean doesn’t know much about football, he understands enough to know that they’ve only made one touchdown and things aren’t looking too hot right now. He nibbles at his bottom lip in worry; he doesn’t want to see Marco lose, not at their first game of the season, not at their last, not ever. Not if it means that he’ll wear that expression of utter desolation and misery for even a second. 

When halftime is over, Jean sees their team walk back to the field with hunched shoulders and an immense pressure on their backs. Marco in particular because he’s the quarterback, so his team is depending on him. Even from the stands, he notices the crinkle in Marco’s eyebrows and the tenseness of his stance. He’d do anything to make that tension disappear, to make Marco smile and forget about his worries. 

That’s why when Jean yells at the top of his lungs, “YOU CAN DO IT, MARCO,” he feels relieved when Marco turns his head toward Jean’s general direction with a shocked expression. Finally catching Jean’s eye in the crowd, the wrinkles above Marco’s brow disperse and he gives him a grateful grin. Satisfied, Jean gives him a thumbs up before the freckled football player turns his attention back to the game (Eren rolls his eyes at their little exchange, he never should have agreed to go in the first place). The barista is so delighted that he doesn’t even notice that he’s inadvertently started a mass cheer squad from their side of the bleachers. 

The game continues and by the end of the third quarter, the score is tied at 23 - 23. They’ve managed to catch up, thank goodness, and Jean breathes out a sigh of relief. He sees that Marco and his teammates look much happier now, and Jean thinks that their previous feelings of failure won’t distract them from their goal in mind. 

Cheers and roars grow excruciatingly loud from both team’s supporters in the bleachers during the fourth quarter. Jean joins them in their chants and he hopes he doesn’t lose his voice the next day. The score is never changing throughout the entire quarter and eventually, their team has 6 seconds left to make one more down and every spectator is on the edge of their seats. He looks to Marco as he calls their play (Blue 42? Whatever the hell that means) and Reiner snaps him the ball. The clock is ticking and every second is precious, but none of it matters when one of their players manages to catch the football in the end zone.

Everyone in the bleachers explodes in cheers and they stand up to throw their banners and signs in congratulatory relief. The roar of the crowd is deafening as Jean sees Marco get carried on his teammate’s shoulders around the field, his laughter bright and fists pumped high toward the sky. Jean laughs because he’s so happy and glad that Marco was able to pull off that amazing win for not only his team, but for himself as well. Jean’s breath hitches when Marco catches his gaze through the crowd and he freezes momentarily when he sees the freckled boy mouth something he can’t quite decipher. The confusion on his face must be evident because Marco simply laughs and shakes his head, turning his attention back to his team. Jean smiles to himself; whatever Marco mouthed can wait until later when he’s not preoccupied with a huge win and plans for celebration. 

Eren nudges Jean and tells him that they should leave before the crowd makes it impossible to get down the bleachers. He nods in agreement and they weave through screaming students to start making their way back to their respective dorms. Jean parts with Eren about halfway, their dorms are on separate ends of the same street, and he pulls out his phone to text Marco a congratulation-text. 

When he gets back to his dorm, Jean locks himself away for the rest of the evening with his sketchbook to draw what he remembers of the football game. Page after page fills with action shots of Marco throwing the football, yelling plays and leading his team to victory. He carefully illustrates Marco’s game-time expression and pays extra attention to the ferocity that burned in his eyes. His hands falter when he begins to sketch the look of despair Marco wore during halftime and the glisten of unshed tears hidden behind brown orbs. Jean’s heart clenches tightly and he vows to never be the cause of such sadness on Marco’s face. 

It’s almost 11pm when Jean feels his phone vibrate. His palms get kind of sweaty when the notification on his screen says that he has two new messages from Marco. He moves to check the texts, but why would he be texting Jean this late at night? Curious, he opens the messages. 

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**Thanks for the congratulations! :D Sorry I didn’t see this until now, my teammates had my phone. I’m glad you came out to the game tonight, though.**

 

**From: Marco :)**   
**By the way, are you at your dorm right now?**

 

Jean quirks an eyebrow. The thanking for his text is expected, but the question in Marco’s second text is not. He’s not really sure where Marco’s going with this, but he types back an honest reply anyway. 

 

**To: Marco :)**   
**ya i am, y?**

 

He frowns when Marco doesn’t text him back after that, but his thoughts are interrupted by two solid knocks on his door. _Who the hell would be here at 11pm..._ Confused, he gets off his ass and strides over to open it.

When Jean swings the door open, he gets the shock of his life because Marco is standing outside his room with a shy smile on his face. His eyes widen in surprise and Marco only manages to say “hey-” before Jean slams the door shut in his face. The room shakes slightly after the force used to close the door in panic, and Jean immediately berates himself for being a fucking idiot. 

“Uh... Jean?” Marco calls from outside, his voice wavering slightly. As Jean scrambles to hide his previous painting of the freckled boy and stow away his sketchbooks, he feels kind of guilty for leaving Marco outside his dorm without so much as a greeting in return. 

“Sorry! I- er, just give me a sec!” He hastily packs away his paintbrushes, shoves his dirty clothing in a laundry basket, and throws away the suspicious two-week-old ham sandwich near his bed. Once his room is presentable and the floor is actually somewhat visible, Jean waltzes back to the door, opens it and leans against the door to utter a not very cool, “Hey.”

Marco has his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Was the slamming of the door really necessary?” 

“Well, sort of, yeah. I had to clean up a little bit. Y’know. Be socially acceptable.” The freckled boy chuckles at Jean’s nonchalant shrug. “So, you never answered my text. What are you doing here? Isn’t there a celebration party or something?” Not that Jean is complaining (of course, he’d love if Marco showed up at his dorm like this more often), but he’s genuinely curious of his actions.

Marco rubs his neck and sheepishly answers. “I’m not exactly your typical party person, so I didn’t go. It’s not really my type of crowd. So, um. I was wondering if you’d want to hang out at the cafe or something?” 

“This late?” 

“Okay, yeah, I know, it’s late and I’m sorry it’s on such short notice, but I just wanted to hang out tonight, and it’s okay if you’re tired and don’t want to-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Jean puts his hands up in a gesture to stop Marco’s word vomit. Really, he’s rather flattered by the fact that Marco thought of him, wanted to hang out with him, and came all the way to see him. “I never said that. Come on in, just, ah, give me a second to get changed and we can head out.”

With that, Jean turns around to walk toward his closet. While he picks out a warmer sweatshirt to wear, Jean notices Marco nervously step into his room, as if not wanting to intrude in his private domain. He muffles a snicker and quickly tops the sweater over his t-shirt. When he turns back around, Jean notices that Marco is staring at something near his bed. Following his gaze, he notices that the object that Marco is looking at is his black cardigan lying suspiciously close to Jean’s pillow. _Oh god, what the fuck do I do. Do I bring it up? Holy fuck. Shit. Now he knows. He definitely knows. Fuck._

“Oh, uh, I forgot to give you back the cardigan from Friday. Thanks again, by the way.” Jean hopes that his hair covers the blush forming on the tips of his ears and subconsciously rubs at his industrial piercing. He picks up the cardigan to (reluctantly) hand it back to Marco, but Jean is thrown for a loop by the shake of his head and a shy smile.

“No, it’s okay, you can keep it.” It’s dark outside and Jean only has the crappy lighting from his dull ceiling lamp, but he’s positive that Marco is blushing from furiously when he says his next words. “Besides, it- uhm. It looks good on you.” 

And then it’s Jean’s turn to blush to the point of no return. He thinks he’s going to faint and he staggers a little to lean for support on the wall. His voice is quiet and shaky when he replies. “I, okay. Thanks.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence between Jean finally finishing changing and getting his satchel to Marco uncomfortably shuffling his feet and rubbing his palms together. Jean picks up his keys and says, “So, let’s go?” before Marco nods and they leave the dorm.

The walk to the cafe is spent basking in each other’s presence and breathing insignificant words into brisk air. Jean has his arms crossed and hands tucked under his armpits in an effort to keep warm in the evening chill. It doesn’t help very much, but the body heat radiating off Marco’s side does, and Jean subconsciously walks closer to feed on as much warmth as he can. By the time they arrive at the coffee shop, they walk shoulder to shoulder with quiet snickers and louder smiles. 

The door to the cafe jingles when Jean pushes the door open and holds it out for Marco to step in first. Marco curtseys jokingly as he walks through and Jean rolls his eyes at how lame this is. 

“I’ll make us our drinks, you go get a table, yeah?” He sees Marco nod before he makes his way to the counter and finds a surprised Eren drying down a washed blender. Jean gives Eren a nod (their bro-nod, and Eren nods back with purpose) and makes his way through the employee counter door to start on their drinks. He’s halfway done pouring their drinks into two cups when he hears Eren hum thoughtfully to himself.

“You know,” the green-eyed barista murmurs, “you should probably hurry the fuck up.” 

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m why, you little shit.” Levi storms in through the back door and snatches the half-full cups out of Jean’s hands. “Did you even wash your hands before making these? What are you even doing here.”

Jean can feel his eye twitch. He’s not sure why Levi’s this angry – his boss doesn’t usually care when Jean comes in the shop off-shift to make himself a drink or two – but he knows better than to defy Levi when he’s in a mood. “Er, I was making my friend and I,” he gestures to Marco with his head, “a drink. I’ll pay for it out of my paycheck, don’t worry.” 

“Damn right you will,” Levi narrows his eyes but sets the cups back down on the counter (Jean breathes a sigh of relief, their drinks survived) and pinches the bridge of his nose. He turns to Eren and mutters. “I’m heading to the back room. Call if you need me.” 

With Levi’s exit, Jean turns to Eren with feelings of betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell me Levi was in the back?!” 

“Dunno, slipped my mind. He’s been kind of cranky recently, not really sure why.” Eren just shrugs and pretends to pay extra attention to a non-existent smudge on his blender. Their coffee has almost completely transferred from maker to cup when Eren suddenly slams a hand on his shoulder and spins Jean around to face him. The hand never leaves Jean’s shoulder (his grip only tightens, actually) as Eren gives him the biggest, cockiest grin he’s ever seen. “So, you and Marco, huh?” 

Jean slaps the hand off his shoulder with his free hand. “Shut up. We’re just here for coffee.” 

“Really, Jean? Coffee at what, 11:43pm? Seriously?” Eren scoffs and wipes his hands on his apron. “And I’m a Victoria’s Secret lingerie model.”

“Fuck off.” Jean growls as he caps the coffees and hops over the counter to walk back to where Marco is sitting (as he walks back, he hears Eren muttering to himself, “why the hell are we even open this late, this is ridiculous,” and Jean snickers). Marco looks like he’s in a daze as his index finger draws little patterns on the table, but he jolts when Jean sets the cups down with a loud thump. 

“A-ah, thanks.” He takes the drink with gratitude but Jean thinks he sees a strange dullness in Marco’s eyes that wasn’t there before, and it makes the pit of his stomach sink to his toes. Jean twirls his thumbs, lightly tracing the patterns on his cup while he wracks his head for something to say, but Marco steps in before he gets a chance. “So, uhm. There’s something I wanted to ask you, but it’s kind of personal...” 

“Hm? It’s okay, what’s up?” 

“Okay. U-uhm. So,” Marco stutters and Jean thinks it’s absolutely adorable, “are you and Eren, y’know, together?” 

_Together?_ What does Marco mean by-

Wait.

Wait.

What.

Jean thinks his eyes are going to fall out of his sockets as he stares completely flabbergasted at the freckled boy’s words. He’s left utterly speechless, because _Eren and Jean? Together? Seriously?_ As he turns his head to look at the counter, Jean sees Eren talking animatedly with a stupid blender, venting about his recent term paper marks and how he totally deserved at least an 85. He turns back to Marco (who’s flushed pink and is nervously picking at the lid on his cup) with an incredulous look and lets out a loud laugh. 

“Me, and Eren? Did you actually think- Oh my god, haha, sorry. No, we’re not. I mean, I like guys and all, but Eren is just. No.” Jean waves his hand in a gesture of dismissal, but he can’t dismiss the fact that he just admit to Marco that he bats for the other team. His mind swirls and he can feel his palms sweating. He’s halfway ready to sputter out some sort of stupid “no homo” joke to cover himself, but Marco just smiles and nods understandingly.

“Oh, okay. Sorry for assuming. I was just,” Marco hesitates before continuing, “curious.” 

Jean’s not sure if Marco caught his confession, and he doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. But judging by the look on Marco’s face, Jean doesn’t think that he noticed (or at least, wasn’t bothered by) his sexuality. In fact, the dull look that previously occupied his eyes has disappeared and is replaced with the glowing warmth that Jean’s become so accustomed to. He grins, and the tight feeling in his chest is back, the same one that keeps Jean awake at night and coils under his ribcage at day. It sits there until moments like these, where that feeling spreads quicker than lightning in his veins and disappears without a trace. 

But maybe, the feeling never really leaves, he realizes, when Marco laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle into moon-like crescents, and the dimples near a large cluster of freckles on his left cheek accentuate his boy-ish smile. Jean can’t help but greedily take in all of Marco while they talk about meaningless things (or maybe not-so-meaningless, because Jean finally remembers that he’s never told Marco his dorm room number, and when he questions him, the freckled boy only sheepishly responds that he asked Reiner for it) as they sip on their drinks. 

An hour or so passes with sarcastic retorts and hearty laughter as their coffee eventually gets cold. Jean’s nearly done his drink when he realizes that, wow, he _really_ needs to pee. He excuses himself to the washroom (Marco makes a poor toilet joke, Jean laughs sarcastically) but not before tripping over his chair while getting up and knocking over his satchel. 

“Ah, shit,” Jean’s already standing up and he doesn’t really want to bend down, so he takes the easy way out. He walks toward the restroom anyways and calls back to Marco, “sorry, can you pick that up for me? I’ll be right back.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

After Jean does his business, he washes his hands and gives himself a onceover in the bathroom mirror. He doesn’t look half bad, he thinks, but there’s a cowlick near the back of his head, just above his undercut. Not really having any other choice, he wets his hand and tries to pat it down. After a minute of failed attempts to tame his hair, he gives up and leaves the bathroom with a scowl. 

When he walks back out to their table, Jean is expecting Marco to be waiting patiently for him to come back, slowly sipping on the last drops of his coffee. What Jean doesn’t expect is his satchel still splayed out on the ground as Marco flips through every page of Jean’s sketches of the freckled boy in the sketchbook. He stops dead in his tracks. The pounding in his ears won’t stop and his chest constricts tightly to the point where Jean thinks he can’t breathe. _This can’t be happening,_ Jean tells himself before he looks up to see Marco’s face and-

No.

_No._

_NO-_

Jean’s mind starts shutting down and terror intensifies tenfold in every part of his body. He can’t erase the image of Marco’s shocked expression from his memory as it replays over and over again. _No no no no no no nononono-_

He’s shaking and tears are forming in his eyes when he storms up to Marco and swipes the book out of his hands with a look of utter and complete embarrassment on his face. Jean can’t look at Marco, not right now, not when he’s finally found out what a fucking creep he is and probably thinks that Jean is the biggest fucking creep he’s ever met. Tears threaten to escape as he averts his gaze to the floor and quickly packs up his satchel to get out of here, before he can see the unmistakable look of disgust on Marco’s face and feel his heart literally break in multiple pieces. 

Jean doesn’t spare a glance back to Marco when he bursts out the door of the coffee shop, and he vaguely hears a call of “J-Jean, wait!” before he’s running down the street back to his dorm. The midnight chill bites at his cheeks as his tears – now freely flowing down his face – drip to the sidewalk and leave a trail of splotchy dots. He doesn’t care though, can’t care, when he rubs his eyes with the back of his palms and focuses on getting away from Marco because it’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

_It’s all over._

His footsteps gradually slow to a stop near the main entrance to his dorm as he drags himself to his room and shuts himself inside. He wipes streaks of tears from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, his mind and body numb not from the cold, but the feeling. The same feeling from before, but now it feels like lead on his heart and it sinks to the pit of his stomach to make him absolutely sick. Jean thinks he might throw up; from nervousness or from fright or from sorrow, maybe all three, he’s not sure. He runs to the washroom and it doesn’t matter because he does it anyway, the bile rising from his stomach to the toilet and leaving a burning trail in his throat. He sits on the bathroom floor, leaning against the seat as more tears fall from his lids and his dinner to the bowl. 

_He knows,_ Jean cries over and over again in his head, and nothing can really compare to this feeling of despair and defeat. He can taste the remnants of vomit on his tongue and feel the drool that drips and sticks to his chin. _He saw it. All of it. He’s gonna know that you’ve been watching him since day one. He’s gonna know that you have a big, fat, gay-as-fuck crush on him. He’s gonna know that you’re the creepiest person that he’s ever associated with. He’s gonna- no. He knows. He knows. He_ knows. 

Eventually, Jean peels himself off the tiled floor and stands to face himself in the mirror. His reflection is probably what shocks him the most, the puffiness of his eyes and tear-stained cheeks that glare back at him, as if in mock and ridicule. He’ll admit, Jean looks awful right now, as he sniffs and wipes at the barf still left under his bottom lip, before moving to rinse the taste of pre-digested food from his mouth. The rest of his time in the bathroom is spent in monotonous routine and almost mechanical-like movements from sink to bed.

He lays down, head on pillow and limbs tucked in, as he hugs his blanket to his chest and pinches his eyes shut. They sting from the tears and Jean knows that when he wakes up the next day, they’ll be swollen and embarrassingly red. Despite knowing that, Jean can’t help the tear that runs down his cheek when he remembers Marco finding out about his disgusting hobby of drawing him from afar. He chokes back a sob and bites into the comforter as tears begin to soak through the sheets and drench his pillow. Jean doesn’t think he’s ever felt this broken in his entire life; not when his parents got divorced, not when his dog Beatrice died, not when he didn’t get accepted to his dream university. 

_It’s sad,_ he thinks, that the only one that could make him this miserable is the same person who makes him the happiest he’s ever been. That thought stimulates a fire in Jean’s chest, one that burns and burns away until he’s nothing but ashes and dust. It eats away at him, slowly devouring every piece of hope he had and replaces it with hollowness that leaves a void in Jean’s heart. 

However, he realizes now that maybe, there was nothing there in the first place. It was simply those slight glimmers of desire, when Marco smiled at Jean with so much fondness, that temporarily filled that space with false hope. Jean hates that he let himself think that there could have ever been even a possibility that Marco saw him with that same affection and adoration. He hates that he let himself become so weak, so devastated by a person who just recently walked into his life.

_But he’s not just a person,_ his mind is all over the place as he feels drowsiness seeping through his bones to settle under his eyelids, _it’s Marco. It’ll always be Marco._

Jean falls asleep with wet cheeks and cold feet, but as he slips away, he dejectedly decides that nothing’s more unbearable than this feeling of loss.

*****

Over the next two weeks, Jean avoids Marco like the plague. He ignores all of his texts and calls, and purposely uses the hallways that the freckled boy doesn’t have classes in at the university. Jean steers clear of the football field on game days and speed walks back to his dorm from work every day. He’s even asked Levi to change all of his shifts to days that would normally inconvenience him, but would allow Jean to completely evade Marco all together (Levi was totally pissed, but he did so anyway because Jean is one of their hardest workers). Regardless of going to work knowing that Marco won’t show up at the coffee shop, Jean’s attitude toward the customers is ill-mannered at best (his scowl is at its prime, especially toward the younger kids, and he doesn’t care when he accidentally spills a lady’s order on her shoes). 

In reality, Jean knows he’s being a jerk by ignoring Marco, but he doesn’t want to feel the hole left in his chest stretch until it consumes his entire being. He hates that when he thinks of the freckled boy, his throat stings with rejection and he finds himself choked up over the simplest memories. Jean just wants things to be right again, back to how they were before, but he knows that they can’t. Not after Jean fucked things up between them, leaving a gaping cavern between their relationship that will never be restored. 

This thought devastates Jean, so he sleeps restlessly every night and wakes up with eye bags that grow darker and darker each day. Even his friends have started to notice and question him (“Have you been sleeping enough, Jean?” “Are you feeling sick? Maybe you should take the rest of the day off,”) but he just tells them to fuck off and crawls deeper into his pit of self-deprecation. 

It’s even evident in his art; Jean finds that he can’t draw, paint, sculpt, _create_ anymore. He feels like he’s lost his muse, his reason to love the art, and that scares him more than the fear of rejection. When he picks up his pencil, his hands shake and nothing looks right when lead meets paper, so he rips out the pages and they find purchase in garbage cans around his dorm. Jean hasn’t drawn since the day Marco found his sketchbook and he hates himself for being so weak, so affected, so _useless._

He tries to move on, he really does, but there are only so many things that Jean can do before he’s reminded of Marco again (a football shirt at the mall, the vanilla lattes at work, his black cardigan that still sits in the back of Jean’s closet). It sucks that no matter what, Jean just can’t seem to forget the freckled boy with the warm smiles and selfless eyes. 

And he hates that.

*****

It’s the Tuesday evening of Jean’s third week of avoiding Marco when Eren finally snaps at work. 

“Wow, Jean, you’ve been such a fucking douche bag recently, even _I’m_ starting to feel bad for you.” 

Jean halts in the middle of restocking the straws to turn his head to Eren with narrowed eyes. “What the fuck did you just say?”

The green eyed boy snorts and leans his elbow on the counter. “Don’t tell me you don’t think that I or anyone else hasn’t noticed. Why the hell have you been such a cranky little bitch lately? You look like shit.”

“Fuck off, Jaeger,” Jean pushes past Eren with a scowl. He really doesn’t have time for his shit right now, but his co-worker roughly grabs him by the elbow to turn him around.

“Don’t walk away from this, Jean. Avoiding your fucking problems isn’t gonna solve shit.” 

“What, and you think that you can?!” He pulls his elbow out of Eren’s grasp and gives him a glare. Walking to the back room, Jean spits out a retort. “Get the fuck out of my business, Eren.” 

“I’m just saying what no one else in this god damned circle of ours has the balls to say to your face, you big fucking baby!” This makes Jean stop dead in his tracks and whip around to face Eren with clenched fists and flared nostrils. They’re lucky that there aren’t any customers in the shop right now; Levi would have a fit if someone filed a complaint about vile language and passive aggressive fighting. Eren’s brows furrow together and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve all noticed, Jean. What the fuck is wrong with you? You even made Christa cry yesterday, do you know what Ymir is gonna do when she finds out?!” 

“Let her find out! I don’t give a fucking shit.” Eren makes a face like he’s just witnessed a murder before he stalks up to Jean’s face, so close that they’re practically breathing the same air. Jean refuses to lose this staring contest they’re having as Eren scoffs with a disapproving glare. 

“You don’t give a shit? Well fine! Just know that I don’t give a shit when I tell you that you’re a fucking imbecile that takes his problems out on others instead of finding practical fucking solutions to them!” That’s the last straw, Jean decides, before he punches Eren in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. 

“What the fuck do you know?!” Jean’s full out screaming at this point and he sees a few curious pedestrians glance in the shop to see what’s causing the commotion, but he pays them no mind in favour of watching Eren’s eyes glow with fury as he picks himself off the ground. “I don’t need your fucking opinion on my life!” 

Jean hardly has time to blink before his face makes contact with Eren’s fist and he’s sent toppling into the counter. His jaw hurts like a bitch and he thinks he tastes blood in his mouth, but Jean has enough sense left in him to see the veins pop in Eren’s neck as he shouts his next words. “God dammit Jean, can you just listen for one fucking second!?!”

“What’s there to fucking listen to?!” Jean is beyond pissed at this point and he really could care less about what the green eyed boy has to say. “Are you going to tell me that I need to pull my shit together? That I need to stop putting myself before others? Cause believe me, you fucking prick, I know already, and I don’t need you to fucking remind me!” 

There’s a moment of silence between the two, and nothing is heard except for the sound of their heavy breathing. Jean wonders why Eren hasn’t said anything, hasn’t punched him again, hasn’t kicked his ass like he usually does. He’s confused when he sees Eren’s expression of wrath slowly dissipate into one of realization. Jean watches as Eren’s fists unclench and the tension in his shoulders fade away. 

“Did,” Eren’s voice is no louder than a whisper, “did something happen with Marco?” 

Jean snaps and tackles Eren to the ground with a growl. There’s not much room behind the counter but they roll around, punching and kicking each other until Jean eventually pins Eren down and straddles his legs with seething anger. “Shut the fuck up, _shut the fuck up!_ ”

“Jean- _Jean,_ ” The boy on the floor tries to reason with him but Jean can’t hear him as he slugs him in the face one more time. Eren spits out blood at contact before he speaks again. “Jean, stop-”

He’s about to tell Eren to shut up, he doesn’t know anything, how _dare_ he, but Jean notices that there’s something wet dripping onto Eren’s face. Last time he checked, it wasn’t raining inside the coffee shop, so when Jean drags a hand up to his face, he’s surprised when he finds tears on his cheeks that won’t stop flowing. 

“Shit- I, fuck,” Jean quickly scampers off Eren and moves his hand to cover his face, hide that he was crying, hide his weakness, but Eren’s quick to respond and grab his wrist before he gets anywhere. 

Eren gives Jean a look of understanding – the anger from before has completely dispersed – and he speaks quietly. “What happened?” 

They’re both sitting on the floor behind the counter when Jean spills everything about the past three weeks. He tells him about what happened that night, how Marco found his sketchbook, the look on his face as he flipped through the pages, and how now the freckled boy definitely thinks he’s a fucking creep. Jean’s voice breaks as he tells Eren that Marco probably thinks he’s some faggot (Eren scowls at the use of the f-word, kicks Jean in the shin because he doesn’t tolerate that kind of derogatory language even from him) who secretly draws him from far away, and he hates how he thought that there was even the slightest chance that Marco liked him back. He’s a sniffling mess at the end of his story and Eren pulls him in for a much needed bro-hug. 

His cheek hurts as they lay awkwardly on the ground, and though he’ll never admit it, Jean really appreciates that Eren is willing to hear him out. They stay like that for a few minutes until the front door to the shop jingles, alerting them of a customer. Eren peels himself off Jean and dusts off his apron before he turns to whoever just walked in with a raised eyebrow. 

“Hi Eren,” a very familiar voice says and Jean internally starts to panic. 

Eren casts a glance to Jean and raises an eyebrow before he turns his attention back to the customer and replies with a grin. “Oh hey, Marco. How are you?” 

“Ah, I’ve been better.” Jean starts crawling away from the two boys, but Eren stomps down on his pant leg, preventing his escape. His mind is on overdrive, he’s stuck now, and Jean barely registers how pathetic he looks, sweaty and sprawled out on the floor of the shop. He hears the familiar shuffling of Marco’s feet and his heart pangs at the memory. “Uhm, this might sound a bit forward, but have you seen Jean recently?” 

Jean’s heart lurches and his eyes widen at the sound of his name from Marco’s lips. He turns to Eren in shock and waves as discreetly as he can for the universal sign for “NO!” 

He sees that the green eyed barista acknowledges his distress call from his peripheral, but all thoughts of being saved are crushed when Eren puts a too-fake smile on his face and indirectly stabs Jean in the back. 

“Yeah, I have. Actually, he’s right,” Eren reaches down and pulls Jean up by his collar, so his head is visible just above the counter, “here.” 

Marco looks just as surprised as Jean feels as he quickly pushes Eren’s hand off his shirt and rights himself to save some face. This isn’t what he wanted, standing in front of Marco with swollen eyes and a snotty nose, but there’s no escape now. Jean meets Marco’s eyes for the first time in three weeks and his eyebrows rise in shock; the freckled boy looks almost as wrecked as he does, with sleepless eyes and a worn-out smile. He almost feels guilty, but the tightness in his chest comes back and he finds it hard to breathe again. 

“Jean,” Marco says quietly, “can we talk?” 

It’s inevitable, he knows, the conversation that they need to have, but Jean will do anything to prolong hearing things he’s already aware of (rejection, rejection, _rejection_ ). 

“I- uh,” Jean hates that his voice cracks and he takes a step back, “I’m kind of busy right now-”

“I’ll cover you, don’t worry about it, Jean.” He shoots a glare at Eren. His co-worker just nudges him with his elbow and pushes him to the counter-exit. 

“I really don’t think that’s necess-” 

“Jean,” Marco interrupts, his voice wavering slightly and Jean halts in his escape to the back room. The freckled boy’s eyes are pleading and desperate, “please.”

He’s conflicted and scared and nervous. Talking with Marco means discussing things he doesn’t want to hear coming from his mouth and having to live with the outcome. Jean’s not sure if he can handle that; the thought of not just assuming, but _knowing_ that Marco doesn’t feel that way. It feels like something is controlling his movements when he utters out an “okay,” and he feels his feet slowly following Marco outside the shop. 

It’s dark outside and the night air nips at Jean’s ears as they walk down the street. No one’s said a word since his agreement to talk, and there’s a thick fog of awkward in the air. They eventually reach the park in the neighbourhood and Jean sneaks a glance at Marco when he halts in his footsteps. 

Marco rubs his hand against the back of his neck and bites his lip as they stand under the only lit streetlamp in the park. He looks like he’s struggling to say something, probably deciding on how he can put Jean down lightly, and the barista interrupts before he gets the chance. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it,” Jean whispers. He hates how his voice quivers and how completely pathetic he sounds, but he continues. “I, I already know that you don’t... and... I just...” 

Jean starts backing away to hide his tears, hide how utterly broken he is and how stupid he is for starting to cry again. He’s about to laugh and play off his feelings like it’s some sick joke (isn’t it, though?) but Marco grabs his hand and pulls Jean to face him.

“No! That’s not,” Marco looks him in the eye and Jean sees the sincerity, the desperation that nearly breaks his heart all over again. “That’s not what I meant.” 

He finds it difficult to look away from his face, the freckles that adorn his visage and the lips that he so terribly craves to kiss. There are tears prickling at his eyes as he takes in all of everything that he can’t have, and a single tear rolls down his cheek. Marco slowly slides his hand up his wrist, his arm, his neck, and rests it on his cheek. Jean’s suddenly aware of the heat of Marco’s hand on his face and the freckled boy’s eyes are warm as his thumb swipes at the tear. At this point, his heart pounding so loud, he’s sure that Marco can hear it as well. 

He places his hands on Marco’s chest to push him away, but the other boy doesn’t budge and simply presses closer. 

“Jean,” he breathes and the art major’s heart rate accelerates. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever be able to forget how it feels to have Marco say his name with a tone of such endearment. “Please, just, listen to me for a second, okay?” 

Barely aware of what’s going on right now, Jean nods because he doesn’t trust his voice to remain steady. Marco sighs before he continues. 

“The day we went to the coffee shop and you asked me to pick up your bag, I found your sketchbook lying on the ground. I know I shouldn’t have looked, it was an invasion of your privacy, but I couldn’t help myself. And when I looked through your drawings, I didn’t think I’d ever felt so happy in my entire life.” 

Jean freezes as his eyes widen into saucers. “ _W-what-_ ”

“Let me finish,” Marco cuts him off and Jean closes his gaping mouth. “That night, I was in so much shock because I would have never thought that you saw me that way. I was flattered, still am flattered, that you would draw me with so much attention.” 

He feels Marco rubbing slow circles into his cheek with his thumb and he subconsciously leans into the touch. Jean realizes that his hands are still resting on Marco’s chest as his heart is doing back flips; this isn’t remotely close to what Jean had expected out of this conversation, and he’s somewhat embarrassed by the recount of how much detail he really put into those sketches (which was a lot). 

“After I saw them, I decided that I’d put the sketchbook away and tell you how I felt, but obviously that didn’t turn out right, hm?” Marco smiles softly and Jean can feel his face heat up in humiliation. The younger boy averts his eyes to the ground, but Marco brings his free hand to cup his other cheek and forces Jean to look him in the eye. “When you cried and left the shop, I felt so guilty. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t mean to make you think that I was disgusted by what you did, because I wasn’t, Jean.” 

Jean’s confused and more tears are leaking from his eyes at his frustration. He grasps at the fabric in his hands as he wills himself to stop crying, stop crying, _stop crying_. His head is pounding as Marco’s deft fingers swipe across his cheek again to erase his tears. There’s barely a foot of distance between them now (when did they get so close?) and Marco leans in a little closer before he mumbles his next words. 

“I like you, Jean.” 

Completely shocked, Jean stares at Marco like there’s a spider on his face. 

“... W-What?!” His mouth hangs open and Jean honestly can’t believe what he’s hearing. He pinches himself on his palm to check if he’s dreaming, and he feels the pain, so he’s clearly not. “Really?!”

Marco laughs at Jean’s cute demeanour and smiles fondly at him. “Really, Jean. Really.”

A splitting grin falls on Jean’s face as he lets out a sigh in relief. The tears keep falling, but now they’re out of happiness and he can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. “Wow, I, uh, okay. Okay. ...I like you too, Marco.” 

“Yeah, I know,” is Marco’s snarky reply and Jean pushes him lightly with one of the hands still on his chest. He laughs, and Jean watches as Marco’s eyes crinkle in happiness. The wound up tension in his chest unravels and Jean feels like he’s floating. 

After their laughter dies down, the two are left in each other’s arms, silently staring at each other. Jean never lets his gaze leave Marco’s, not even when the taller boy leans his forehead against his own and limits the space between them to a mere two inches. Jean smiles as he sees Marco’s gaze flicker down to his mouth, and he slowly leans in, eyes fluttering shut, until their lips meet halfway.

Jean thinks there are fireworks behind his eyes and explosions in his chest when he brings Marco’s bottom lip between his own. It’s cliché, he knows, but when he smiles into the kiss and feels Marco do the same, he can’t bring himself to care. Jean slides his hands up Marco’s chest to wrap his arms around his neck as he feels the freckled boy bring one hand from his cheek to grasp at Jean’s hair. It’s wonderful, it’s amazing, it’s everything Jean had ever wanted, and when they pull away, he’s left panting with a feeling of content. 

“I like you,” Jean breathes with a smile, and he feels more than hears Marco’s quiet giggle.

“Yeah,” Marco says before he leans back in to seal their lips once more, “I like you, too.”

*****

It’s a hectic day at the coffee shop and Jean scrambles to fulfill everyone’s orders. Jean’s not sure why so many people have decided they all wanted coffee now, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it between grinding espresso beans and manning the cash register. While taking orders, he nearly slips on the same spill twice before yelling at Eren to mop that shit up. 

He sighs. Ever since Jean’s been promoted to assistant manager, Eren’s been sulking around and hardly listening to what he has to say. The green eyed boy complains that he was the one to get him and Marco together in the first place, but Jean just yells the next order before he can see the blush that crawls up his neck. 

The line never seems to end, but the next time Jean hears the jingle of the front door, he looks up and sees a familiar face walk through the entrance. Jean’s chest tingles as he puts down the order he was working on to brew a vanilla latte with a dash of cinnamon. The lady whose frappuccino Jean just put down gives him a disapproving look, but the barista doesn’t really care as sees Marco walk up to the end of the counter with a smile. 

“Hey, Jean.” The freckled boy smiles warmly at him, and Jean doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing his name from those lips.

“Hey yourself,” is his reply as he shoves the latte into Marco’s hands with a sly wink and picks up the order he was working on before. Marco raises his eyebrow appreciatively at the “babe <3” written on his cup before he takes a sip from the cup and sighs in satisfaction. Jean shakes his head amusedly at his boyfriend’s antics before focusing at his task at hand. “How was practice?”

“Good, tired.” The freckled boy sighs and pokes at Jean’s sleeve. The barista turns away and pulls his arm back, not wanting to be distracted while he’s on the clock with a huge line up. Marco pouts a little at being ignored, but he calls Jean’s attention back with a question. “When do you get off work?” 

The barista shoves past Eren (“Hey!”) to squint at the wall clock. “In like, 5 minutes. Wait up, I’ll be out in a second.” 

“Okay,” Marco says before he goes to sit at his normal table in the corner. 

Jean quickly cleans up around the sinks and is mid-way through taking off his apron when Sasha walks in the door to switch shifts. He gives her a smile as she crawls behind the counter to replace him for the evening. The barista goes into the back room to pick up his satchel and keys from his cubicle, and walks out to Marco’s table with a grin.

“Ready?” Jean asks as he feels a warm familiarity settle in his chest.

“Ready.” Marco stands up with his drink and they quietly exit the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop. They walk along the street, talking about their day and just meaningless things that still make Jean’s heart soar with love and adoration. 

And when they stroll past the park and Marco casually laces his fingers together with Jean’s, he thinks that, yeah.

He could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is interested, I do have tumblr: animebread.tumblr.com :)


End file.
